Ernesto Cardenal and I

I was out walking, sweaty and with hair plastered to my face when I saw Ernesto Cardenal approaching from the opposite direction and by way of greeting I said: Father, in the Kingdom of Heaven that is communism, is there a place for homosexuals? Yes, he said. And for impenitent masturbators? For sex slaves? For sex fools? For sadomasochists, for whores, for those obsessed with enemas, for those who can't take it anymore, those who really truly can't take it anymore? And Cardenal said yes. And I raised my eyes and the clouds looked like the pale pink smiles of cats and the trees cross-stitched on the hill (the hill we've got to climb) shook their branches. Savage trees, as if saying some day, sooner rather than later, you'll have to come into my rubbery arms, into my scraggly arms, into my cold arms. A botanical frigidity that'll stand your hair on end.